Reflections
by TopKat
Summary: Sirius' life did not flash past him as he fell through the veil - but after, sometimes, it did. RemusSirius.


When Sirius fell through the veil, he did not see his whole life before his eyes.

There was no technicolor cut-and-paste montage of triumph and failure, no moment when all of it, together, finally made sense, and he understood. Mostly he just felt cold, passing through the veil, watching as his loved ones (and Bellatrix, of course) swam out of view to be replaced by swinging cloth and little else.

No, when Sirius passed through the veil, his life did not flash before his eyes.

_After_ that, though, sometimes, some of it did.

XxX

First and foremost, there had been the moment he realised he was not a mistake.

It wasn't really anything crystallising, probably due to the fact that he was twelve at the time, and more predisposed to farting and laughing about it than being philosophical, but nevertheless, the feeling crept up on him like a shroud thrown over his shoulders, and suddenly, where there had only been shame and bitterness, there was love. He remembered one Halloween, smiling lazily, waking one morning in a second-floor bathroom, his dorm-mates curled beside him, asleep. They were covered in the remnants of the night before – pumpkin guts, the smell sickly-sweet, orange strands and wide, white seeds all over their faces – but they were all smiling, even Remus, whose nightmares Sirius was now all too accustomed to. They smiled and slept on, even though they would get caught, even though the sunlight was only just filtering through a low window, making the room a soft yellow-grey.

He remembered that James awoke and saw him sitting there, eyes open, and his usually mischievous face flashed with worry. "Are you alright, mate?" He said groggily, the apprehension apparent in his eyes, and Sirius had nodded, smiling.

"'Course. Go back to sleep." And James hadn't needed telling twice, but Sirius had sat in the dim light in that bathroom, surrounded by his friends' curled, boyish forms until they'd all been pulled out by their ears, hours later, smiling without really knowing why.

XxX

Second, there had been the moment he realised he could leave.

He remembered being only fifteen, wheeling and diving his way through the clouds on what was then a poorly-charmed motorbike, whooping and hollering. Because he had been free, then. Finally able to tell his mother where to stick it, to tell his father that he _wasn't _a Black, and watch the anger surge behind his eyes. He was able, for those few minutes on the way to James' house, to ignore the reproachful look on his brother's face, because he was _free_.

And even though he'd crashed into a barn and landed headfirst in a bale of hay - even though, when he finally got going again, he realised his (in his opinion, seriously cool) biker leathers were smeared with cow shit, he had felt for the first time like a _person,_ like he was on his own, but in the sweetest way. And that, alone, had been worth the smell.

XxX

In sixth year, he remembered kissing Remus for the first time under some particularly aggressive mistletoe, to raucous common room laughter. The kiss itself had been unremarkable – forced, messy – but he remembered the look in Remus' eyes when they pulled apart, terrified but focused, face red but his eyes on Sirius' for far too long. He remembered, finally, understanding why things that year had been different, somehow. Why their letters had been so many in the summer; why he got that tiny thrill when the werewolf caught his eye across a room.

He remembered that night, too; Christmas eve, catching him as he brushed his teeth and wilfully, soundly kissing him again, the taste of mint, Remus stopping to put his toothbrush neatly away, and then tugging them together again.

XxX

In seventh year, James found love.

Sirius hadn't liked her at first – she was too bossy, too uptight, always telling them what to do, telling them what prats they were and being difficult. He only really saw her for what she was when she was with James – sweet and sarcastic, lively and mischievous. Bossy, still, but together she and James just _fit_, and Sirius remembered being exasperated but pleased when they finally got it together.

Years later, still kids but less so, he stood up at their wedding, and said, "Lily and James are, quite possibly, the strangest, most difficult couple I have ever had the misfortune of dealing with." He had raised his glass. "But they are perfect. Even if the ginger bint _did _steal my best mate." And Lily had looked at him so gratefully, gorgeous in her white dress at the table, holding James' hand, that Sirius had forgotten why they never got along, and had toasted them, instead. And even later, when the spiked punch made Lily's sister and her boyfriend dance up an uncontrollable storm on the long white tables at the reception, and Lily grabbed him by the neck and shook him, for a moment there he had almost been friends with her, too.

The night after the wedding Sirius remembered Remus on his doorstep, eyes that same, focused orange as in sixth year on Christmas eve. And Sirius had invited him inside, nineteen, barely knowing what love _was _but feeling it when Remus held his hand in the doorway and followed him inside.

They did not talk about it, then, too embarrassed of what they were to consider giving it a name, or a sentiment, but Sirius had known even years before that not talking about it didn't mean it wasn't _there_.

XxX

He remembered the first time James ended up in Mungo's after a botched mission for the Order, and Lily cried into Sirius' shoulder, gasping, even though they'd been told he was going to be okay. She'd said "Where will this end?" and Sirius had no answer, just stroked her hair and held her, instead, shushing. Remus sat beside him, hand on his wrist, fingers cold and tight.

XxX

He remembered when James finally woke, jovial and laughing, and Remus apparated home and fucked Sirius for the first time, ecstatically, gently, gasping "love you." Under his breath before collapse.

And in the morning, Sirius _hadn't wanted to leave. _

XxX

He remembered thousands of tinier, less important moments – Like waking in the morning, naked as the day he was born, to find Remus at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea, looking at him and instead of scolding, smiling gently and sipping with raised eyebrows. Like coming to bed every night to something warm, that lay next to his ear thinking Sirius was asleep, and whispered, almost inaudible, under his breath. Like waking to an empty house but a note on the kitchen table that read, _'Back soon. I love you. Bacon is in the fridge.' _Like having a Saturday to themselves, for once, and doing absolutely nothing at all, head in Remus' lap as they watched television, the werewolf's fingers in his hair. Like every single time Remus looked at him and, involuntarily, smiled.

XxX

He remembered going to James' house after a terrifying owl to find the messy-haired man at the door, jumping with nervous energy, telling him "We're having a baby, Sirius, a _fucking green-eyed, red haired fucking baby!" _and Sirius had been unable to respond beyond a hug, and "It might actually take after you, you know, Prongs." Which James hadn't dignified with a response. And Lily had wandered into the kitchen, rolling her eyes and, Sirius remarked with disbelief, _really glowing. _She had smiled, embarrassed, and put a hand to her then-flat stomach, and kissed James on the cheek. Remus had been away for weeks then, on 'business', but Sirius received his letters, some filthy, some wistful, with eager hands and wrote of the baby with a wide smile on his face, receiving a response hours later, Remus obviously woefully disappointed to have missed it, but glad with a kind of _fury _that new things were being created in a world where things only ever seemed to be destroyed.

He remembered when Remus finally came home, exhausted and falling upon him at the door, kissing his temple, his hair, each eye, with startling reverence. And they were in love then, even though they tried not to be; breaking, weary, feeling silly but holding hands at every opportunity, being together whenever they could.

XxX

And later he remembered other things, things he would, had he been able to, have chosen to forget. But it did not do well to dwell on them, and largely, he did not.

XxX

Seeing Remus again in the shrieking shack, years later, reminded him of third year, when they found out his secret and in the early morning, post-full moon, had lain together like in second year when Sirius had realised they were friends. A bundle of boys, sleeping where they fell, Sirius opening his eyes briefly to find the wolf looking at him strangely, reverting to human as he watched, the boy reaching for Sirius' face and touching it briefly before collapsing, asleep. And Sirius hadn't understood then, but had lain watching his poor, damaged friend for hours nonetheless.

When Remus fell upon him in the shack, arms shaking, his nose buried in Sirius' shoulder, snuffling breaths, Sirius had felt a joy come back to him, like a memory, and had held Remus tight, however briefly. He had held that memory for the next year, stinking in caves but _alive, _heart beating, face worn and ragged but still himself. Still himself.

XxX

Even though he had hated that house, living in Grimmauld Place had had its moments, too. He found joy in watching Harry, trying to reconcile the images of James and his son as different people, but failing all too often. He found joy in the moments he spent just sitting at the kitchen table, feet on flagstones, breathing the energy of family, and warmth, and love. He loved the Weasleys, found Molly an endearing kind of chore, found the twins more relatable than he would like to admit. And he loved Harry and Ron and the Granger girl too, all long-limbed and childish, all together, always.

He loved Remus; a quieter kind of love, the kind that shook and winced apologetically during sex, saying "Is this okay?" and Sirius saying yes, always, but preferring the moments after to the act itself, studying the way time had changed Remus, his new scars, the new look in his eyes as he lay asleep.

Not beautiful, no. But still _his_.

Sirius remembered most often the last day of seventh year, the five of them lying in the common room in various states of disrepair, the party's frantic energy dripping off them, talking about the future.

Sirius had looked at them all, seen his friends, seen every person he loved, sitting together and laughing, and he had felt lucky, and he had felt whole, and like everything was going to be alright.

* * *

><p><strong>I don't really have many theories about what was 'beyond the veil', mostly because death is death and there's no sense in splitting hairs, but here i was trying for something a little more... life-affirming than usual. Hopefully i succeeded, i'm not sure! Please leave a review if you read this, i will always reply.<strong>


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